


Sprain

by Janekfan



Series: TMA prompt fics [16]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jon is ornery, Jon just let them have at you, Kinda?, doting, sprained ankle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26609074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janekfan/pseuds/Janekfan
Summary: Prompt: Jon needing crutches in the very early days of the Archives ??? Not bc of any massive injuries but like twisting an ankle!! (Something wounding pride more than his body) !! And all the S1 crew reacting/trying to help while Jon reacts like, well Jon!! Bonus if he's in pain and also irritated about that on top of everything !
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Series: TMA prompt fics [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082912
Comments: 16
Kudos: 142





	Sprain

**Author's Note:**

> Little out of my comfort zone but I hope it's liked!

If he was quick he could slip into his office unnoticed and enjoy at least one more day of his employees’ blessed ignorance. He'd been slow this morning, the ache in his sprained ankle blossoming from something manageable without pain medication to a persistent gnawing sensation he found hard to ignore. 

He gave in and took the meds. 

But his dawdling caused him to miss the train. 

And having to take the next one meant Tim, Martin, and Sasha were at work. 

_Waiting._

"Boss!" Of course. "What happened?" Tim positively radiated curiosity and concern, and Jon hated it. Just let him sit in his mistakes in silence, please. 

"Clearly, Tim, my ankle is giving me some trouble today." The chaffing of his crutches, how they dug into his sides and under his arms and made his palms sore did not contribute anything positive to his imperious attitude. 

Tim was undeterred. 

"Wait until Martin sees you." No.

No. 

No, No, that simple would not do; he'd be drowning in tea and attention and paracetamol and he just wanted to suffer alone, thank you. 

"Don't tell him." And if his face held even a fraction of the fear his voice did, it was too much. "Tim?" And it must have, because Tim looked positively scandalous. “ _Tim_!”

“What?” Such innocence, such lies and deceptions. 

“Don’t!” He needn’t have bothered because quick as a fox, Tim scurried off, and slow as all hell, Jon limped his way to the safety of his office with all the grace of a one-legged penguin. The sound of someone clearing their throat caught him up short. 

“Jon.” 

“Sasha.” She stood, poised, holding an armful of statements and sedately sipping her tea, courtesy of Martin he was sure, and that must mean he was close. 

“Ah, I see you’re working on the follow ups I asked for.” 

“Of course, Jon.” Was she mocking him with it? Did she know? He narrowed his eyes. She raised her brows. 

“Well, good.”

“Yes.” 

“Great even.” 

“Hm.” Another sip. The curve of her lips extending beyond the parameter of the rim. Was that a threat? Rather than find out, Jon sprinted, sort of, the last few meters, shutting the door behind him and sagging against it. No sooner had he collapsed painfully into his chair, there came a tentative knock on the door. 

“Jon? Tim told me--” 

“Come in, Martin.” Already aggravated, it held far more bite than it normally would and he could almost feel the man’s flinch through the door. But he complied, brave, considering, and stepped in carrying a hot cup of tea made no doubt, exactly how Jon preferred it. 

“What happened?” He set the mug on the desk, turning the handle towards him and the care of the action soothed some of the annoyance. The concern, the fretting, the sympathy, none of that, just simple curiosity and Jon appreciated it. 

“Accident, nothing that won’t clear up in a week or so.” Jon took a sip, closing his eyes because really, Martin made a very good cuppa and credit was due. 

“That’s good to hear.” He was fidgeting. Keeping the fussing inside no doubt. 

“Yes, Martin?” He jumped. 

“Ah, if, if you need anything today! J’just let me know and I’ll be happy to fetch it for you!” Jon sighed.

“Thank you, Martin.” And beaming, he lingered one moment more before heading off to fulfill his promise. 

All told, the day passed rather uneventfully. Even Tim kept his teasing to a minimum, preferring to do so out of sight (and the risk of bodily harm) when Martin brought another mug. It made Martin blush and Jon consider whether or not he really needed _two_ crutches or if he could afford to lose one. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, folding his glasses carefully on the desk and trying in vain to alleviate the tension headache. 

“I can get you something for that.” 

“Mm. No. It’s alright, thank you.” 

When he opened his eyes a bottle of paracetamol sat beside his cup anyway. 

At the end of the work day, Jon was going through the task of staggering his way up the stairs, so much for DDA compliance, when Tim surprised him from behind, on purpose no doubt, and steadied him when he teetered. 

“Oh dear, boss. Be careful.” Jon rolled his eyes, enduring his misfortune. “You know, I’m proud of you! Letting Martin dote.” He divested him of a crutch, replacing it instead with his arm. “Have you gone soft?” 

“Tim.” The growl of warning lacked heat and Tim just laughed. 

“Just let us take care of you.” Jon groaned when Tim planted a loud and dramatic kiss to his cheek right before passing him off to Martin. “I promise, it’ll be easier if you do.”


End file.
